


Boys in Trees

by GiGiS89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Inspired by a Movie, Mild Language, Orphan Dean, SPN Cinema Genre Challenge, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiGiS89/pseuds/GiGiS89
Summary: Two lost boys find their way and each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: This story contains inaccurate depictions of the State of Florida child welfare system. Title from the Carly Simon song of the same name. Heartfelt thanks go out to elenajames and story_monger for their beta. spn_cinema entry inspired by Moonrise Kingdom. Commissioned artwork by Kamidiox: http://kamidiox.deviantart.com/.

August 1978

Key Largo, Florida

 

Sheriff Jody Mills pulls her patrol boat into the marina, regretting the fact that her duties keep her mostly desk-bound, but grateful to have been able to slip away for a short pre-dawn patrol.  It’s gone a long way toward soothing the trepidation that’s plagued her for the past week, though it hasn’t eradicated the feeling entirely. It is still there, like a deep gnawing in her gut. A persistent tug at the back of her mind. A sensation of having forgotten something important, of having left something essential undone.  She gives the marina a quick once over as she idles in. It’s a familiar and comforting site, one of the few places that has remained unchanged on her ever-changing little island. There are a handful of charters boarding passengers, a few pleasure boats, but it is otherwise quiet.  In a couple of hours, it will be inundated with tour boats and boaters coming down from Miami.

She slips beside the dock where her deputy and one of their newer officers are waiting.  The weight she’s been carrying for the past week sinks deep into her stomach. She throws out a line; her deputy catches it and secures the boat as she disembarks.

“Hamilton.” She nods a good morning greeting. He instructs the other officer to finish securing the boat and joins her as she starts making her way back to her patrol car.

“We’ve got a report of a missing scout coming in from Pennekamp, ma’am,” he says.

 

~~~~

The Khaki Scout Master is waiting for her when she arrives back at the station. He stands up from one of the chairs beside her desk, offering his hand and a nervous and rushed introduction. Scout Master ‘please, call me Ash’ Roberts is thin, looks no older than mid 20s and has a mullet he’s pulled into a ponytail. He looks more like a stoner than a Khaki Scout, but there he is in full uniform, right down to his yellow, knee-high socks. It’s a disconcerting mix.

 

“He left sometime between lights out and morning wake up, between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.,”Ash clarifies. “He took one of our two-man tents, a bedroll, a lantern, food and various sundries.”

 She leans back in her chair. “Sounds like he had a plan. He been a problem?”

 The Scout Master looks away for a moment as if trying to decide how much to say. “No. He’s a loner. He doesn’t get along well with the other boys. But,” he adds quickly, not wanting to give her the wrong impression, she guesses, “he’s a good kid, a good scout. He left a note.”

 He pulls a folded sheet of notebook paper from his pocket and hands it to her.

 

_Scout Master Roberts,_

  _I’m sorry for taking off and for taking supplies without asking.   I hope they don’t give you a bunch of crap about it. It’s not your fault._

  _Dean Singer_

She nods. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone? Do you think he might be meeting up with someone? An adult?” She pauses, hating that she lives in a world where this has to be the first assumption. “Have you noticed any suspicious persons hanging around the campsite or talking to the boys? Anyone who might have lured him away?”

 The Scout Master’s eyes go wide. He shakes his head fervently. “No. We’re using the old campground. It’s closed to the general public. There’s only one trail into the site. We only arrived on site two days ago . Either my co-leader or I have been with the group at all times. He didn’t see or hear anything either.”

 “I’m going to need to interview him, as well.”

 Scout Master Robertson nods solemnly.

 “Is there any reason you can think of that would explain why he ran?”

 The Scout Master twists the brim of his hat; shakes his head vigorously. She nods in affirmation.

 “Well, Mr. Robertson. Let’s hope things are as innocent as they appear and that he hasn’t done something foolish like decide to hide out in the preserve.”

He blanches at the comment. She silently chastises herself for setting him even more on edge.

 She picks up her phone. “Baker? Grab a couple of the guys; head out to Pennekamp. Brief the ranger. Need you to interview the other leader. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

 She doesn’t say goodbye nor does she set the handset back in its cradle. She hooks the handset on her shoulder at the same time she depresses the plunger that activates the hookset to end the call.

 “We’ll need to notify his parents.”

 

***

 

Jody is sure she heard wrong. “I’m sorry. What do you mean ‘you can’t ask him back’? This is Mr. and Mrs. Singer, correct?”

 Static hums through the poor, long-distance connection.

 “No ma’am. Dean’s parents are dead.” The tinny voice on the other end says. “We’re Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Dean’s foster parents.”

Jody looks to the Scout Master, who is sitting beside her, listening in on the call. He flips through the manila folder he’d brought with him. He shrugs his shoulders in confusion. “Sir, my name is Ash Robertson- Dean’s Scout Master. There isn’t anything on Dean’s registration about being in foster care.”

 “Listen, uh, Mr. Robertson?” Mr. Johnson interrupts. “I don’t know what your file says, but we never registered Dean for scouts.” There is the muffled sound of a woman’s voice in the background then a heavy sigh from Mr. Johnson. “Dean ran away two days ago. We haven’t heard a peep from him since. Look, we did what we were supposed to, okay?  Once we realized, he wasn’t just late coming home, we filed a report with the police and with his social worker.  This isn’t the first time he’s run into trouble and well, the missus and I, we have other kids to take care of. Don’t get me wrong; he’s not a bad kid. He’s just more that we can handle. I’m sorry we can’t be of more help to you.”

“Mr. Johnson,” Robertson starts to protest, but the line is already dead. He looks at Jody, his eyes sharp with anger and disgust. “Can they do that?”

 Jody nods. She wonders whether the Johnsons were Dean Singer’s first foster family or only his latest. She wonders if getting removed from their home will mean he’ll be sent to a group home next or, worse, juvenile detention.

  She squeezes the Scout Master’s shoulder.“Let’s just focus on finding him for now. We’ll deal with the rest once we know he’s safe.”

 

Ash requests the use of her office and some privacy to report the incident to Khaki Scouts headquarters. Jody happily obliges. She makes her way to the break room mulling the case over and trying not think about what will happen to Dean Singer once they find him, which she’s confident they will do. From what she’s gathered, Field Mate Dean Singer is an above-average scout with excellent wilderness and orienteering skills. He’s well supplied, but as far as they can tell, on foot. While theirs might be the largest of the islands that comprise the Florida Keys, it's still only a 30-mile-long strip of land with only one road in and out of town. Without a car or a boat, there isn’t anywhere for him to go. There are, however, a lot of places for a knowledgeable and well-equipped boy to hide. All of them fraught with dangers a non-native twelve-year-old, no matter how industrious, is probably not equipped to handle.  She hopes that he’ll be able to keep himself safe until they find him.

She pours herself a coffee. She heads back to her office, stopping at her aide’s desk to check if anyone has reported in from the scene.  Williams advises her they found tracks leading out to Far Beach and that one of the park’s canoes is missing. She shakes her head in disbelief. He’s one resourceful little kid. She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so worried for him.

 

The Scout Master emerges from her office as she’s wrapping up her briefing with Williams. He looks suddenly ten years older.

 “I’ve got to get back to the troop.”

“Sure.” She offers her hand and he shakes it. “I’ll have one of the deputies take you back. I’ll be sure to keep you informed of any developments. We’ll find him, Ash.”

 He puts his broad brim leader’s hat on and heads out the door. As he exits another man rushes past him.  He’s got two kids in tow; Jody recognizes them immediately.

 “John, what are you doing here?”

 

~~~

They arrive at the meeting place at nearly the same time. The sun is breaching the horizon, bathing everything in red-purple sunlight. Dean finishes dragging the canoe he’d borrowed from the park up onto the shore just as Sam emerges from the tree line. They stop. Sam with one foot on the sand and the other in the wood line. Dean still bent over the canoe. Neither knowing what to say. Finally, Sam steps fully onto the narrow beach and says, “Hey.”

 

  **One year earlier**

 Sam sits perched in his favorite window seat, one eye on his book and another on the water. His brother and sister (seven-year-old twins who he loves and hates by turns) are sprawled on the floor involved in another loud and impossible-to-comprehend argument about just who is supposed to pick the next record. Josie wins, of course; that’s just what Josie does. Adam pouts and calls out an indignant “Sam!” to which Sam immediately replies, “DAD! I’m trying to read!” He’s not. He mostly just wants to be left alone.

 His Dad moves loudly across the house. He isn’t even in the room yet, but Josie and Adam are scurrying to pick up their mess and to look as innocent as possible.

 “What’s the problem, Sam?” he asks, popping his head into the room. He’s dragged the phone from the kitchen with him and is cupping the receiver with his hand. “All I asked for is thirty minutes. Hold on.” he tells the person on the other end then covers the receiver back up. “You can’t watch your brother and sister for thirty minutes?”

 Sam stares back at him, quietly seething while Josie and Adam exchange a smug look.

 His Dad shakes his head. “Just. Just watch them. I need fifteen minutes. Okay? Do you think you can handle that?”

 Sam doesn’t know how this went from their being in trouble to him being under the spotlight. He doesn’t argue but makes his displeasure known by slamming his book shut.

 “Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

 His Dad gives him an exasperated look, resuming his conversation as he disappears back into the other end of the house. Josie and Adam take their portable record player and follow out behind him. Sometimes Sam really wishes he was an only child.

 

His Dad goes out later but is home by 6:00 p.m. Sam doesn’t see him, but the rumbling of his Dad’s Impala is unmistakable.  An hour later, he shouts from the kitchen for them to sit down for dinner. An hour after that Adam and Josie (with Sam’s help) clear the table. Sam does the dishes. His Dad disappears onto the lanai for after-dinner drinks while the three of them watch reruns of The Six Million Dollar Man, then it’s bed time.

The next day, they do it all over again.

School starts in three weeks and they haven’t gone anywhere. Dad said they couldn’t afford to visit Grams during the summer like they’d always done when Mom was still alive. It's one more thing in the million that have changed since they left their life and their dead Mom back in Kansas.  Instead, Sam has spent his summer fighting with his Dad and watching his brother and sister. Every day their house feels more and more like a prison. He’s restless and angry and desperate to do something, anything, different.  Desperate enough to offer to take Adam and Josie to John Pennekamp, not caring that it’s midday or that they’re already cranky or that the park will probably be unbearably crowded. He just needs out.  It’s only a twenty-minute walk from their house. He figures they can check out the saltwater aquarium in the visitor's’ center and play on the beach for a little bit. This is how he finds himself standing in front of said aquarium when Dean Singer walks in.

 

“What is that?”

Sam turns away from watching Adam and Josie press their faces into the glass. A boy about his age is watching him expectantly. He’s not much taller than Sam is, has freckles across his nose and cheeks. His dirty blond hair is neatly styled, like going to church neat, Sam notes. He’s watching Sam with big, curious green eyes. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone with eyes so green. He’s wearing a Khaki Scout uniform, which Sam thinks, combined with the old man hairstyle, is hilarious and makes him look like a deliveryman.  His khaki garrison cap has the number 55 embroidered on the front right of the cap. A nametag sewn on the right side of his shirt says 'Singer'.

 “Well?” Singer asks pointing to a large fish swimming past them. It has a silver-blue body with a yellow stripe down its side and a bright yellow fishtail.

 Sam points to the informational display on the wall just to their left. “Yellowtail Snapper.”

 Singer nods. “Cool.”

 “What’s with the getup?” Sam asks.

 “Khaki Scout end of the summer camp out.” He replies, without taking his eyes off the small school of snapper moving lazily from one end of the tank to the other.

 “Shouldn’t you be with your troop?”

 “Probably.” Singer seems lost for a moment then adds. “You know this park? You think you can show me the beach?”

 

There’s a little voice in Sam’s head pointing out how strange and awkward Singer is. Reminding him Sam promised his Dad to be responsible and to watch out for his siblings. Going off with some weird kid is not responsible and something he definitely shouldn’t do, but he doesn’t get a chance to decide either way. Adam and Josie clutch a hand each and start chanting “beach, beach”, as soon as the question is out of the strange boy’s mouth.

 “Okay. Calm down.” Sam tells his siblings then nods at Singer. “Come on. It’s just around the corner.”

 Singer follows him out silently, still more focused on the exhibits in the visitor center than where they’re going.

 

It only takes them a minute to cross the parking lot from the visitor’s center to the beachhead. The beach is small and as crowded as Sam feared it would be. Adam and Josie abandon Sam as soon as the beach is in sight, running straight for the water. They’re both excellent swimmers; Sam’s not worried. They navigate their way through groups of families and college kids and find a spot right at the water line. Adam and Josie are a few feet into the water, too busy splashing each other to notice their arrival.

Sam sits, and Singer follows. Sam toes off his Converses while Singer carefully unlaces his hiking boots, easing them off and then peeling out of his socks. He stuffs the laces and socks into their respective boots and sets them neatly beside him.  Sam’s Grandpa Henry used to do the same thing.

“You done?” Sam smirks.

Singer shoots him a warning glance. Sam laughs, stretching his legs out so the water laps at his heels. The strange boy digs his toes in the sand. Singer doesn’t say anything. Sam watches him as he looks out to the water.

 “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” Sam isn’t used to so much silence. There is always someone fighting or shouting or barking orders in his house.

 The upper part of Singer’s foot disappears into the sand. “Probably.”

 Sam rolls his eyes. “As long as you don’t get me in trouble too.”

Singer pulls his gaze away from the water and levels it at Sam. It feels meaningful and strange. It makes Sam uncomfortable. He looks away and back to his siblings. Adam is chasing Josie, diving to grab at her and purposefully falling short. Josie shrieks then waits patiently for Adam to resurface so he can do it all over again. Sam shakes his head. They’re ridiculous.

“It’s nice; you bringing them out here.” Singer says as scoops sand onto the tops of his feet.

 Sam wonders if Singer is making fun of him. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, though.

“Dean! Thank god! There you are!”

 Sam and Dean turn in unison towards the voice. A man wearing a grown up version of Dean’s uniform is speed walking towards them.  He’s tall and painfully thin. His legs are so skinny; Sam wonders how they hold him up. He is wearing aviator glasses that overwhelm his face.

“Jesus, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He takes his cap off and wipes his forehead with a bandana pulled from his back pocket. He gives Sam a long once over before turning his attention back to Dean.  “Listen, little dude, you cannot just take off. What’s the number one rule, man?”

Dean looks from the man to Sam and then back.

“Always take a buddy?” Dean responds tentatively.

“Yeah. Exactly. I don’t see your buddy, Dean.”

Dean looks at Sam. His lips part as if to speak, but seems to think better of it and keeps quiet. The man shoves his bandana back into his pocket.  He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. All of his earlier aggravation seems to go out of him. The man, whose name tag says “Robertson”, crouches down so he’s eye level with them.

“Come on, buddy. Everyone’s ready. We don’t want to miss the boat, right?” He smiles.

 Dean looks at Sam one more time then shakes his head.

 “All right,” the man says clapping his hands as he stands. “Let’s go then.”

Dean scrambles up, grabbing his socks and hiking boots. The man turns and begins walking back towards the visitor’s center. Dean starts to follow but runs back to Sam after only a few feet. He dives knees first into the sand, searching his pockets frantically for a moment before pulling a piece of paper from one pocket and a small pencil from another.

 “Here,” he says urgently as he scribbles something down. He shoves the paper at Sam, not waiting for him to take it. It flutters into Sam’s lap. “Write me.”

 Sam doesn’t have a chance to respond. Dean is on his feet and has nearly caught up with his troop leader by the Sam snaps out of his confusion.

~~~~

Sam lies in bed replaying the afternoon’s events over and over in his head. The strangely detached way Dean had approached him. How desperate and lonely he had first appeared to be. The strange pull of his stare. Sam digs out his flashlight from underneath his pillow, clicking it on. He grabs the piece of paper (a folded half sheet of lined notebook paper with a drawing of deer) off of his nightstand.  Dean’s name and address are written on the back in neat, block letters. Dean Singer, 1879 SW 356th Street, Florida City, FL. Sam checks to make sure Adam is still sleeping before slipping out of bed and padding quietly to his school desk. Beside the desk is a tall bookcase crammed with books. It takes him a minute, but he eventually manages to unearth his atlas. He clears space on his small desk and opens the oversized book to the United States section, flips quickly through the individual states until he gets to Florida. He finds Key Largo, works his way up, and easily locates Florida City. It’s a tiny dot surrounded on one side by the Everglades and a bunch of nothing on the other. It’s only two inches north of Key Largo.

He sets the book aside, digs out the stationary his Aunt Joan gave him two Christmas ago. It’s heavy cream paper with a blue sailboat in the bottom right corner.  Sam had been disappointed and confused when he’d received it. What ten-year-old boy needs stationery? They didn’t even sail or live near the water. His Mom, though, had made a big deal of how he could now write his Grams, so he had smiled best he could and moved on as quickly as possible to his next present. He almost threw it away when they moved, but decided against it last minute. He figured his Mom would have liked that he kept it.

He grabs pen and paper and crawls back to his bed, throwing the bed sheet over himself to dim the light.

 

_Dean,_

  _I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble today.  I looked up where you live. It’s not too far from here. Maybe you can come visit again before school starts. Adam and Josie really liked you._

 

The last part is a little white lie. Adam and Josie barely noticed Dean, but then again, they hardly ever notice anyone.  Still, he thinks, it’d be weird for him to say he likes Dean and thinks they could be good friends. Easier to lay it on his brother and sister. Little kids like everyone.

 He reads his note through one more time, pen poised and ready for action. He stares at the paper, waiting for inspiration, not knowing what more to say to a virtual stranger. He decides it’s enough for now.

 

_Anyway, write me back.  Talk to you soon._

_Sam H. Winchester_

 

Sam can’t believe it when he gets a letter back only a week and a half later.

 

_Sam,_

  _I was really glad to get your letter. I wasn’t sure you’d actually write to me._

  _It wasn’t too bad. Ash is okay. He’s serious about Khaki Scouts, though. He made me do extra chores and the other guys in the troop gave me crap about making about them wait, but I’m used to that. The bottom glass boat was cool, and we got to go snorkeling before we left. I’d never done that before. I saw a bunch of those fish, the yellow ones in the tank at the park. I drew one for you._

  _Dean Singer_

 

Sam unfolds the drawing. It’s incredible.

~~~

They trade letters back and forth for the rest of the summer. They write about everything and nothing. Dean discovers Sam loves basketball, motorcycles, and reading. He learns Sam’s family moved to Florida two years ago from a place called Lawrence, Kansas. Dean looks Kansas up on the United States map at school. Dean’s never been out of South Florida; Kansas may as well be the other side of the world.

Dean sends Sam drawings of his hideout, the abandoned Pirate Cove Putt Putt. He draws egrets, ospreys and even pictures of Sam and Adam and Josie. Dean carefully avoids saying too much about his home life.

He’d been moved again, just after the campout. They never said why. They never do. The Johnsons seem nice enough. He doesn’t put much stock in that though. They all seem nice at the beginning. He tries not to be bitter or resentful, knowing he’d drown in both if he ever allowed himself to feel the full weight of the disappointment and loss that is his life.

 

School starts and Dean feels more lost than ever.  He’s never been good at making friends.  Just as he expects, he doesn’t fit into this school any better than he did in any of the others he’s attended since becoming a “ward of the state”. Not that he tries. He gave on up on trying the after the first two schools, when he realized that no matter what he did, he’d never be normal. He’d always be the weird kid, the orphan. He understands some part of him is broken. Understands that, somehow, the kids at school know it too. They want nothing to do with him. It’s almost as if they are afraid to be contaminated by whatever has touched him.

The first few weeks of school are eerily mundane. He’s a ghost amongst his peers. He does what he can to keep it that way.  It doesn’t last. As always, someone finds something about him to be offended by. He comes home the last day of the third week of school with a black eye.  The Johnsons don’t ask what happened or if he’s okay. (He’s not. Not really.) They don’t ask if he gave as good as he got. (He did.) They do warn him they won’t tolerate fighting. Dean bites his tongue to keep from screaming. He nods and mumbles a “yes, sir” feeling as if he might choke on his impotent rage.

 

Sam’s letters begin to feel like the only good thing in Dean’s life. They make him feel like maybe he’s worth something to someone.  Dean’s thought a lot about Sam and the day they met. He doesn’t typically instigate conversation. He prefers for people to approach him and otherwise, tries to be as invisible as possible.  It keeps people at a distance and that’s how Dean likes it. This isn’t his life. He’s not going to pretend he belongs. He’s not going to act like he’s one of them. He isn’t. There is something better waiting for him. He knows it. Even though Dean hardly knows Sam, he’s sure Sam is part of that something better.

Every so often, Sam asks if he’ll ever see Dean again. Asks when Dean thinks he’ll come back to Key Largo. It’s not that far of a drive; he even suggests he could come visit Dean instead. He’s sure his Dad will let him. Dean does his best to avoid the question. He doesn’t want Sam to know Dean’s life is nothing like his. Dean wants to pretend he’s normal as long as possible. So, Dean tries hard to be careful about what he shares, not knowing how to explain his situation to Sam, fearing discovery and rejection. Sam is the only friend he’s ever had. He doesn’t want to lose him.

He avoids writing about it, but eventually finds himself slipping. Avoiding Sam’s questions, keeping track of his lies by omission is simply too much work.  As time passes and their letters become more and more frequent, his omissions begin to feel like betrayals. He finds himself needing to share the truth, needing someone to know his story, to know him fully.  He starts out small, telling Sam about the other boys he lives with. There’s five of them. They are all older than Dean. They have parents. Sure, parents who are on drugs or in jail, but they have family. They’re not like Dean. Dean is alone.

 

The boys have been with the Johnsons for a couple of years. They take an immediate dislike to Dean. They let him know by doing stupid stuff like hiding his clothes, throwing his toothbrush in the toilet, locking him out of the bedroom. They spit in his food when the Johnson’s aren’t looking. Dean mostly doesn’t care, except for when he’s really hungry or just wants to get some sleep without worrying about someone dumping water on him.  When it becomes clear the harassment isn’t likely to end or be addressed by his foster parents anytime soon, Dean takes matters into his own hands.  Which is how the oldest boy’s foot locker ends up accidentally catching fire one night.

They leave him alone after that.

 

When Sam’s doesn’t respond immediately, Dean worries that maybe he has said too much.  For four long days, until Sam’s letter finally arrives, Dean is awash with fear and anxiety. When it does finally come, he doesn’t have the patience to wait. He tears the letter open, standing in front of the mailbox. He is flush with relief and joy as he skims the letter. In it, Sam assures Dean he shouldn’t feel bad about the foot locker. Accidents happen. Sam knows. He’s accident prone himself, like the way his fist accidentally broke Jim Henderson’s nose. That got him detention, but Sam promises Dean that’s okay too. He was already in trouble for getting into a shouting match with another kid in his class anyway.  Sam explains he sometimes goes berserk. He can’t help it. He explains he has what his school counselor calls, “anger management issues.” Sam doesn’t know what that means exactly, but he’s sure things would be fine if people just left him the hell alone.

Dean can’t argue with that.

 

The tone of the letters changes after that. Their letters are their confessional. Dean learns about Sam’s mother, about his father’s decision to yank them away from everything and bring them “home”. His home. It’s been over two years and Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever think of Florida as his. He doesn’t like the heat or how the weather never changes. He hates the bugs. Sam doesn’t miss the snow, though, so that’s something.  Sam writes about the gulf that has opened up between him and his father. About how close they use to be and how absent he is now; how resentful Sam is being left in charge all the time of Adam and Josie; how much he misses his mom, misses being able to talk to her or even just talk about her; and how much he hates the pinched, anguished expression his father gets whenever Sam brings her up. Sam confides in him the firmly held belief that Adam and Josie have forgotten all about her. He confesses even he sometimes has a hard time picturing her face—the way she was in real life, not in pictures.  Sam closes that particular letter by asking Dean about his parents. For the first time in four years, Dean allows himself to talk about them. He shares every little thing he can remember then cries when he realizes how few memories are left.

 

The holidays are difficult for both of them, but especially so for Dean. The Johnsons go through all the motions. There is a tree (fake and so old the pieces flake off every time you add an ornament) but not much else, certainly no joyous Christmas spirit and no sense of family. The day before Christmas the Johnsons gather them up and drive them to a huge warehouse just outside of Homestead where they collect six black garbage bags each with one of their names on it. Mr. Johnson hands Dean his bag and says unceremoniously, “Merry Christmas.” He accepts the bag of donated “boy 11-13” toys without excitement or complaint. The best present Dean gets that year is Sam’s honest-to-god Christmas card which Adam and Josie have both signed.

 

In March, they have their one and only fight when Sam, after a page long rant outlining his father’s many faults, declares he sometimes wishes he was an orphan too. Dean reads the words over and over before finally responding:   _I like you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about._

 

The school year sputters to an end. Sam wonders if they’ll ever see each other again.

 ~~~

John Winchester settles into Jody’s office, taking the seat directly across from her.  He appears calm, but Jody can tell by the hard line of his mouth that he’s not.  He looks tired and hasn’t shaved in a few days. His beard is filling in, patches of gray mixed in with dark brown. It makes him look older than he is but doesn’t diminish his looks in any way. He’s as handsome as he ever was, she thinks, even more appealing, in some ways.

 

Jody has no doubt that were she a different kind of woman, she could have easily fallen in love with John Winchester and had her life’s mission irrevocably changed. They had grown up together, unsupervised and wild. They’d spent countless summers weaving in and out of mangrove forests and exploring the tiny, uninhabited islands just off shore. He’d been her first kiss and the first person to interest her more than her dad’s job.  They and the gaggle of kids they grew up with were inseparable. Back then, whenever Jody imagined her life as a grown up, it was with him in it. Somehow, she was sure that John would be a part of her life, always. Maybe it would have even proved true if the U.S. hadn’t escalated its military presence in Vietnam.

There are few days in her mostly blessed life that Jody remembers with such acute and surprisingly fresh pain as the day John knocked on her door, hat in hand, to tell her he had volunteered, _volunteered_ , to go half a world away to fight a war that had nothing to do with them or their lives. She listened in stunned silence as he explained it was his duty. Reminded her that his Daddy had fought in the Second World War and again in Korea, just like his Daddy before him who had served in First World War. John finally had a chance to live up to the family’s legacy of military service. He had to go. She stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief.  Her father had made his way to the door by then. He congratulated John when she couldn’t quite manage the words. When John turned to go, she’d thrown her arms around him and allowed herself to cry. She held on tightly to him until her father finally separated them. John left with the promise to never forget her and to write her weekly.

She received two letters from Camp Lejeune then didn’t hear from John Winchester again until he showed up years later—a widower with three kids in tow.

 

Never having met Mary Winchester didn’t stop Jody from resenting her or her memory.  It didn’t stop her from hating herself for allowing a dead woman to make her feel somehow less. Jody had tried, in those first months to revive their friendship, to provide some measure of support for her obviously transformed friend. Despite both of their efforts, they never quite managed to find their way back to the easy friendship they’d shared in their youth.  She’d never been much of a caregiver and didn’t consider herself particularly maternal.  She loved deeply, but wasn’t soft or soft-hearted. Early on, she realized she didn’t have anything to offer a grieving widower with three children and - she guessed - some unresolved trauma related to the war. She’d seen enough of it in her fellow officers who’d served to know John hadn’t left Vietnam entirely behind him upon his return to civilian life.  

 As it was, she was busy fighting her own battles. She was a woman demanding a place in a profession dominated by men. One that, despite her sex, she’d always assumed she’d be a part of.  What a shock it had been to have the men and boys she’d grown up with, had tagged along with on patrol, had apprenticed and trained with, turn their backs at the thought that she, Jody Mills, a mere woman, would seek to lead them. If there was such a thing as police royalty, she was it, and yet it was not enough.  She’s had to be smarter, stronger and work harder than any man that now works for her. It’s taken everything in her not to let the experience turn her into the bitter, jaded, ball-busting bitch some of her men say she is.

So, it was a surprise to both them when, in time, they managed to find their way back to each other, though slowly and painfully. They started out small. Coffee at the garage on her way to work. A beer at lunch. Breakfast after he'd dropped the kids off at school. Jody took great pains to keep him at arm's length and not involve herself in his home life. Until, almost imperceptibly, they slipped into something more than friends. Not love—she doesn’t think either is capable of that yet—but shared affection. Their time together became a respite from their playing their assigned roles. A way for them to lay down their burdens without fear.  Sometimes, it was just as simple as sharing a beer on the porch; sometimes it was much more than that. Always, it was in secret. Really, it’s so cliché as to be embarrassing.  

 

Williams clears his throat, snapping Jody out of her reverie. Williams hands John a cup of coffee and asks if she needs anything more. She shakes her head then motions for Adam and Josie, who had been squeezed into the second chair in her office, to come to her. The twins look to their father, who nods his permission.

“You guys want to color?”

 They nod in unison. She pulls out a coloring book and well-used box of crayons. His are not the first kids she’s had in her office. They surprise her by taking them and crawling underneath her desk.

 “You okay to have this conversation with them here?”

John nods.

“When did you notice he was missing?”

“He wasn’t in his bed this morning.” John takes a sip of coffee then sets the cup down on the corner of her desk. He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think anything of it. He goes off on his bike sometimes before I have to go in to work. He’s cooped up all day with the kids.” He adds as a way of explanation. He swallows hard and clears his throat. “Anyway, he’s always back before I have to open the garage.  When he wasn’t back by nine, I decided to drive around the neighborhood. He’s got a couple of spots where he hangs out. I thought I’d check those out first. That’s when I noticed his bike in the garage.  I checked his room; realized his backpack was missing.”

 “That’s when I gave him the note!” Adam interjects from beneath the desk.

 John pulls a note from his back pocket.

 He hands the crumpled piece of stationery to her then reclaims his coffee.

 

_Adam,_

  _I borrowed your radio. I’ll get it back to you soon. DON’T TELL DAD._

  _Sam_

 

In addition to the note, John also produces a shoe box.

“I found this shoved in the back of his closet.” He half stands to set the box in front of her. She removes the lid and begins sifting quickly through the letters which Sam has kept in neatly in their envelopes and in what appears to be chronological order. She registers the name of the sender just as John says. “They’re all from some boy named Dean Singer.”

Her head snaps up. She shakes her head in amazement and disbelief.  She takes out the first letter, preparing to read its contents when he reaches across the desk and stills her hand.

 “They’re...” He struggles for the right word for a second before continuing. “Personal. I know this is part of your job, but believe me when I tell you that the only letter that matters right now is the last one.”

 Jody looks at him questioningly.

 “Please,” he whispers when her hand lingers too long on the first letter.

 “You read all of these?”

 He nods, pleading with her silently.

 “Okay. I don’t have to read them now, but I will have to eventually.”

She pulls the last letter from the box. Its postmark is only a day old but the letter is dated three days earlier.

 “They’ve been planning this for a long time,” John says. He sounds defeated. “He hates me so much, Jody.  My own son.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. His eyes shimmer with ready to fall tears. Her heart aches for him.

 “I’m sure that’s not true, John,” she offers. He doesn’t acknowledge her comment and instead looks away, refusing to meet her gaze.

 

Also enclosed in the envelope is a pencil drawing on lined notebook paper of two kids playing in the ocean. She doesn’t possess any artistic talent and is not an expert in any way, but even she can see that Dean is talented. The shading, the perspective, the proportions are all beyond what she imagines most twelve-year-olds can do.  She flips the paper. On the back, in neat block letters, Dean Singer has written, “Adam and Josie”.

“He’s good,” John says matter of factly. She nods, placing the drawing on her desk. She smooths the letter out.

 

_Sam,_

_The mouth of South Creek at the end of your road. 0600. Three days from today._

_Dean_

 

She’d been pulling into the marina just around that time. The kids already had an hour lead on them by the time Scout Master Robertson even realized Dean was missing. Another half hour on top of that by the time, he’d notified her office. They’ve been gone three, four hours. That’s a lot of catching for up for them to do, she thinks.

John looks at her beseechingly. She places the letter and drawing back in the envelope. “Don’t worry, John. We’ll find them.”

John doesn’t look convinced. She stands, walks around her desk and slips into the space between his seat and the desk. She sits on the edge of the desk. He looks up at her.

“I promise. I’ll find him.” She runs her hand through his hair. He tips forward and rests his head on her stomach.

 ~~~

 

“You stole a canoe?”

Dean shrugs. “I borrowed a canoe. They’ll get it back.”

He tosses Sam’s backpack and small duffel into the boat. Dean holds the canoe steady as Sam climbs in then pushes them off, bouncing into the canoe as it gains momentum. He settles into his seat, dislodges his paddle from the bottom of the canoe and dips it into the water. “You ready?”

 Sam, already settled in the front of the boat, nods, a small smile playing his lips. This is probably the stupidest, most rebellious thing he’s ever done. It feels monumental, special, and absolutely right.

 “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he marvels.

 Dean looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“You change your mind?” he barks.

There is so much disappointment and hurt in Dean’s voice that Sam is at a momentary loss. He’s not used to being careful with his words. He’s usually the one people pussy foot around. The silence stretches for several uncomfortable seconds before Dean pulls the paddle back into the boat.

“It’s okay, man. I get it,“ he says flatly. His expression is blank, the emptiness in it startling and a little scary.

Sam comes back to his senses, grabs at the paddle before Dean can do or say anything more. His sudden movement making the canoe tip dangerously to one side.

“No. No, wait.”

Dean gives him a wary once-over.

“That’s not what I meant. This is just, you know, pretty fucking cool.”

He lets the paddle go and sits back. Dean lets out a long breath. He watches Sam coolly, seems to come to some sort of conclusion about the veracity of Sam’s statement then smiles. The tension between them dissipates completely.

“Well, then grab a paddle, jerk. I’m not your chauffeur.”

~~~

Dean’s social worker, a harried sounding woman, named Mrs. Stalvey gets in touch with Jody at noon. She sounds more annoyed than concerned. Jody takes an instant dislike to her but does her best to hide it.  It’s not her typical way of dealing with people, but when pressed, she can be as charming and persuasive as the next guy.  She senses she’ll need all of her charms to keep things from getting worse for Dean.

Mrs. Stalvey opens their conversation by going on the defensive. She’s laying the groundwork to absolve herself of any negligence or oversight. It’s a game Jody has no patience for and feels has no place in their conversation. She’s well aware of how flawed the child care system is.  She cuts the social worker off, guiding her back to the matter at hand. What will happen to Dean Singer once he is found?

Jody listens as Mrs. Stalvey summarizes Dean’s time with social services. The Johnsons are his first group home.  He’d been placed with and removed from three foster homes prior to his arrival at the Johnson’s. When pressed as to why he’d been moved so many times, Mrs. Stalvey doesn’t offer anything substantive, only tells her that Dean wasn’t a good fit for the homes he’d previously been placed in. She avoids giving Jody any further details by highlighting the fact that this isn’t the first time Dean has run away, which leaves Mrs. Stalvey with no option but to remand Dean to the custody of the Juvenile Justice system once he is found.

Jody listens with her heart in her throat. The fierceness of the emotion surprises her.  Dean isn’t the first child tangled in the foster care system that she’s dealt with. His is not the worst missing child case she’s been involved with—not even close.  She’s dealt with children in all stages of duress. She’s provided comfort and consolation to children caught in the whirlwind of all manner of family dramas.  Dealing with them is always difficult. It’s impossible not to feel for them, not to want to right the wrongs inflicted on them.  There are cases that haunt her. Some that have shaken her faith in people and even the justice system. Throughout, she’s been able to maintain a professional distance. Never has a she looked into the face of a child and thought, _I want to take care of you_. Yet here she is, thinking that very thing, about a boy she’s never met and only knows through letters he’s written to his friend. Letters she can’t ever admit to having read. She has no doubt Dean would hate knowing she has any knowledge of the secrets he’d shared with Sam. She runs her fingers over the sketch of Adam’s smiling face. She thinks about her parents.  She’s built her life on the solid foundation they’d given her.  She thinks about Dean, alone, untethered, without control or anyone to truly depend on. She may not be maternal, but she is more than capable of being a mentor, a protector, a friend.

“What if we can find him a placement?” Jody asks.

Mrs. Stalvey balks, reminding her that finding anything other than emergency overnight placement is unlikely, especially on such short notice.

Jody will never be able to fully explain to herself, or to anyone who asks, why she says what she does next.

“Mrs. Stalvey, when we find Dean, I will take him into my custody. My personal custody.”

Jody listens to Mrs. Stalvey’s breathing for several minutes before adding. “You can fax me the necessary paperwork, right? Judge Hendrix owes me a favor. I can get everything signed and in place today.”

The call to action seems to bring Mrs. Stalvey back to her senses. There is a long lecture about procedure, of which Jody is already well aware, followed by a reiteration of Dean’s long list of transgressions.

“No better person than a police officer to deal with such a miscreant; don’t you agree?”

There’s no indication Mrs. Stalvey registers the heavy sarcasm in Jody’s tone.

They end the conversation with an exchange of contact information and a promise from Jody to let Mrs. Stalvey know once Dean is in custody.

 ~~~

The water is calm and clear enough for Dean to see the bottom.  He could almost fool himself into believing they’re in a giant pool instead of the ocean. Except there is nothing but water as far as the eye can see. In the quiet of early morning, it would be easy to believe he and Sam are the only two people in the world. It’s unnerving.

“You know where you’re going, right?” Sam turns to look at Dean.

Dean inspects the marine chart on his lap then looks out into the water. This all seemed much simpler when it was just words, an impossible fantasy on paper. Looking out at the expanse of nothingness before them, Dean is suddenly unsure.  The sun makes its ascent into the sky, bathing the world in blinding light that bounces off of the water and off their metal canoe and into their faces. He squints and brings his hand up to shield his eyes. If the island is out there, he can’t see it. It’s not even a speck of hope on the horizon.

“Dean? We’re good, right?”

Dean looks at the map, then the horizon then Sam. He panics realizing he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. He swallows down his misgivings. He can’t show fear. He wants desperately to prove his worth to Sam.

“Yeah, course Sammy. We’re all good,” he says, folding the map up and shoving it in his pocket. He does his best to project confidence he doesn’t feel, doesn’t ever remember feeling. He shoves his hesitation away and begins to paddle.

 

Dean considers their arrival at what he hopes is Rodriguez Key something of a minor miracle. He’s never been comfortable in a canoe. This is, in fact, only his third time in one. He has his proficiency badge; he was certain he knew the basics well enough to get them where they needed to go. In practice, it didn’t take long to discover that it definitely hadn’t prepared him to deal with the hazards of canoeing in open water and especially not in a bulky camp canoe.   Their inexpert handling of the canoe and the wake left as boats speed past them causes them to nearly capsize more than once. In one particularly scary moment, they tip dangerously to left, taking water into the canoe and soaking everything Dean had so neatly packed on the canoe bottom.  By the time they reach the key, he is sticky with sweat, his palms are blistered, and his face is burnt. He knows Sam can’t be much better off.  Dean banks the canoe between two knobby knees of a mangrove tree. He wants desperately to get off the water and onto dry land. They sit in silence for a moment, each catching their breath before Sam turns to him—his hair pasted to his forehead, nose red from the sun, an enormous smile on his face that makes Dean’s insides knot—and announces, “We made it.”

 

The key turns out not to be at all what he expected. They crawl out of the canoe and into the thicket of mangroves. Their spindly roots intertwine and weave together, making it difficult to explore further. They navigate the root system carefully. Their shoes sink into the mushy, slimy bottom. Sam nearly twists an ankle when he loses his balance and his foot becomes stuck. It takes them an hour to work their way to a clearing. It’s no drier than the rest of the key and wouldn’t be big enough for even a pup tent.

Standing beside him, Sam looks as crestfallen as Dean feels.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “Not your fault. No way we could have known, right? Come on. Let’s get back to the canoe. I’m starving.”

Dean marvels at Sam’s easy acceptance. A small part of him warns him not to accept Sam’s words at face value. How could Sam not be mad? He’d dragged them out here, promised this huge adventure which so far has been nothing but a disaster.

They walk back in silence, singularly focused on making their way back to the canoe. Dean leads the way and hopes he brings them out in the right place. There’s nothing to differentiate one tree from another, no footsteps to follow back. He’s distinctly aware of the silence hanging between them, of the pounding of his heart, of his raspy, wet breathing, of the buzz of swarming mosquitoes, of the creaking of entwined branches and remotely, of the thrum of boat engines. He’s thirsty and overheated and despite Sam’s assurances, he’s terrified that through his own stupidity, he’s lost the one friend he has.  He wonders what Sam’s dad will say when he realizes he is gone. If Sam’s punishment will include never being allowed to write to Dean again. _Stupid, so, so stupid_ , he thinks. What will it even matter? Who knows where they’ll send him once he gets back? Dean has no illusions that the Johnsons will want anything to do with him.  Sam’s coughing snaps him out of his thoughts. He stops to ensure Sam is okay.

“I think I swallowed a mouthful of mosquitoes.” Sam grimaces, spits then wipes his mouth.

He should have never dragged Sam out here. He chides himself for thinking he could do this.

“Hey.” Sam taps Dean’s forearm. “I mean it, okay? I could have never planned any of this. I’ve lived here almost three years; I didn’t even know this was here. That’s the first time I’ve ever been in canoe. So, stop beating yourself up. I’m having a blast.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, but wants to enough to go along.

 

They don’t find their way back to the canoe and have to walk along the perimeter of the key, sloshing through six-inch-deep water to work their way back.

The food bag Dean had packed proves to be soaked through. The bread he’d snagged is a soggy mess, but the jar of peanut butter is no worse for wear. They take turns scooping out spoonfuls with a plastic fork then eat a cup of chocolate pudding each. It’s not much of a lunch. Dean offers Sam a sip out of his canteen of water. Sam declines and thankfully pulls out his own canteen. Dean is thirsty enough to drink the entire contents of the canteen in one go. Again, Dean laments how foolish he’d been to think he had their trip so well planned out.

They’re both tired, but know they need to bail out the canoe. Dean uses his camp cup as a makeshift bucket while Sam unrolls the soggy sleeping bags and hangs them on tree limbs to dry. They’re both exhausted by the time they finish. Most of their supplies are ruined. There is a small puddle of water in the canoe.  At the moment, none of it matters. They spread out best they can. It’s not particularly comfortable, but that’s okay too.

They rest, watching the speed boats cut through the water.

“You think they’re looking for us?” Dean asks. He has no doubt Sam’s dad is looking for him. He can’t help but wonder if the Johnson’s have even noticed he’s gone. He’s not sure how he feels about it. Part of him hopes they haven’t. Hopes that he can show back up at their house in a few days and it’ll be like nothing happened. But another part of him, wants to believe he matters enough to be missed.

“Probably not. I figure we have until tomorrow. Dad won’t notice I’m gone until he gets home from work. Man,” Sam chuckles, “he’s going to be pissed.”

Dean feels a twinge of guilt at that, but Sam doesn’t seem worried, only amused. Then Dean remembers that the Johnsons are not the ones he has to worry about. Scout Master Robertson knows he’s gone. Will have, for sure, reported it by now. Dean sits up. Boats speed up and down the channel. They can see the boats and even some of passengers clearly which means the boats can see them. It dawns on him how exposed they are. Dean grabs for one of the paddles. They need to move. Need to find better cover. He’s just about to say so when Sam says, “Hey. Is that boat coming towards us?”

~~~

John paces up and down the dock, Adam and Josie following like ducklings behind him. Jody had advised him not to bring them, but he wasn’t ready to let his remaining children out of his sight.  He stalks up to her as she leans on the hood of her cruiser.

“Where are they?” he asks impatiently.

“They’ll be here soon, John.”

He takes a deep breath; lets it out slowly. “Jesus Christ, Jody anything could have happened to them.” He scrubs his face with his palm. “What if—”

She cuts him off. “They’re okay. That’s all that matters, right?”

He nods but looks at her as if she had just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

 

Josie tugs at John’s hand, and, when she has his attention, raises her arms wordlessly. John scoops her up and hoists her onto his hip.  Josie drapes herself over his shoulder, squirming in his grip until she’s comfortable. John palms the back of her head and rubs Josie’s back, then offers Adam his free hand. Adam clasps it, fitting himself tightly against John’s legs. In this moment, John is a stranger to Jody.  A pang of not longing, not regret, but some inexplicable mixture of both seizes her.  That she doesn’t know this version of him, is her own fault of course. That knowledge doesn’t lessen the awkwardness or the loss she feels at realizing she doesn’t know John at all.  It dawns on her that she’s wasted a lot of time trying to recapture a time in their lives long past. He isn’t the boy he was before he’d left her, no more than she is that girl. She feels foolish and inexcusably selfish.  He shoots her a questioning glance. She doesn’t give him an opportunity to follow through.

“Got you pretty well trained, John,” she jokes as a way to hide her sudden discomfort.

“You just wait,” he chuckles and kisses the side of Josie’s head.

She wonders what he could he possibly mean. She doesn’t get an opportunity to comment or ask about it, though.

 

The gray-green Fish and Wildlife boat idles up to the dock. John and Jody rush up to meet it.  Baker, who had ridden along with her, tags along behind them.

Sam is the first one off. His feet barely touch the dock before John grabs Sam by the biceps. Sam stiffens as if he thinks John might hurt him.

“Don’t you ever do that again. You understand me, son? Don’t you ever fucking ever do that to me again.” He pulls Sam into a tight hug. Sam melts into the embrace.

Dean climbs out of the boat and watches the exchange in silence. Jody can’t even begin to guess what he might be feeling or thinking. His expression is inscrutable. He’s resolutely ignoring the Fish and Wildlife officer beside him.

She steps in front of John and Sam, blocking Dean’s view. He doesn’t look at her. He stares down at her shoes instead.

 

Jody asks Baker to take John and the kids back to station. She instructs him to have one of the paramedics at the fire station check Sam out for any injuries, then send them home. She’ll get a statement from them tomorrow.  Baker begins ushering them off the dock, but Sam breaks rank. He darts around Jody and plows into Dean, throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders. It only takes a second for the blank expression Dean’s been wearing to melt away. They hug tightly for a long moment then pull apart.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sam assures Dean as John takes him by the shoulder and leads him away.

Dean nods but doesn’t look remotely convinced.

“It will be,” she tells him, hoping to reassure the boy.  He doesn’t reply, just turns his face away and stares out towards the water.

A second Fish & Wildlife officer arrives to relieve the officer on board. She exchanges pleasantries with him before turning her attention back to the officer on duty. She thanks him again; the officer promises to have a full report of the rescue for her in a couple of days. They shake hands, and the incoming officer climbs onto the boat then idles away.

 

Suddenly, it’s just her and Dean on the dock. She takes a moment to figure out how to approach him. She had been so focused on finding the boys and in securing temporary custody of Dean that she hadn’t given much thought to what she would say to him once they found him. He’s tall for a boy his age, only a few inches shorter than her, too tall for her to crouch down to his level, but short enough where standing might feel more like she’s looming over him.  She opts for guiding him to a storage trunk at the edge of the dock. She instructs him to sit and she sits down beside him.

They watch the tour boats coming in at the far end of the marina for a few minutes. She’s about to break the silence when he speaks.

“What’s going to happen to me? Are you going to arrest me? Am I going juvie?” He doesn’t sound frightened, only resigned.  For the first time in long time, she’s unsure of herself. She’s at a loss for the right words.

He turns to look at her. He’s waiting for his sentencing.

“No,” she says cautiously. “I’m not and you’re not.”

His shoulders sag in relief. “Am I going back to the group home?”

“No. We’ve found you a placement.”

His brow quirks up. “Here?”

“Yeah. There are still some details to take care of, but if you’d like you can stay here, with me.”

“With you?” he asks incredulously.

She nods. He stands up abruptly.  He glares at her.

“Why? What’s in it for you?”

She gestures for him to sit back down. He does so reluctantly.

“Nothing. I read your file, and I think you’ve gotten a raw deal. I think you could use a second chance. I’d like to give it to you. But I’m not going to force you to accept my offer. It’s your choice. I can call Mrs. Stalvey when we get back if you’d prefer.”

He considers it for moment. “What about your husband? He okay with you bringing home strays?”

She smiles. “I don’t have one of those. I’ve never been married. I don’t have any children. It’d be just you and me.”

He seems surprised by her admission. He looks down at his hands.

“Can Sam and I still be friends?” he asks hopefully.

His hope fills her with such undue joy that it startles her.

“Of course.”

He perks up at that, looking up from his hands and for the first time, at her directly. “What about the stuff I stole?”

“Well, like I said, there are some details to work out.”

His hopeful expression slips back into practiced nonchalance. He shrugs one shoulder and after a long moment says. “Ok, I guess.”

Jody smiles to herself. “ Let’s go home then.”

 

~~~

 

John runs the water, testing it, then gesturing for Sam to get into the tub. He turns away to give Sam a modicum of privacy as he finishes peeling off the crusty, mud-soaked clothes then slips into the tub.

“I don’t need you in here,” Sam grouses once he’s settled. “I’m not a baby.”

The terror John had felt all morning has over time morphed into displeasure. John takes a deep breath, grounding himself. He needs every ounce of patience he has. He understands that how he handles this situation will likely shape whether this is the beginning of their reconciliation or the beginning of long-term hostilities.

“No, you don’t. But you and I need to talk. I don’t want to do that in front of your brother and sister. This is between you and me.” He pauses, struggling to maintain a calm, neutral tone. “You violated my trust, Sam, and you put yourself and that boy in danger.” He offers Sam a washcloth and a bar of soap.

“His name is Dean.” Sam snatches both out of his hands. “He’s my friend. My best friend.” Sam is becoming more and more agitated. His voice cracks with emotion. “We just want to be together. What’s wrong with that?!”

The vehemence with which he spits those words, as much as the words themselves, takes John aback.

“Sam, you can’t run off whenever you feel like it.”

He shakes Sam’s phrasing off, certain that he’s reading more into it than is intended. He hasn’t yet recovered, is still trying to get his bearings when Sam says, “I know what you’ve been doing.” His face is hard. There is righteous judgment in his glare. The indignance only children can muster when faced with perceived slights or injustices. He glares at John and spits, “With her. That sheriff.”

 

For several long seconds, John is at a loss for words. His mind reels, imagining what Sam might have seen or heard. He’s not ashamed to be with Jody, not really. It just isn’t something he’s ready to discuss with his kids. It’s not their business. It has nothing to do with them.  As it is, she’s made it more than clear that whatever is currently between them isn’t anything more than two friends seeking physical comfort in each other.

“I’m not sure what you think is happening, Sam.”

“How can you do that stuff with her?!” Sam interrupts loudly. “What about Mom?! You never talk about her. You never say _anything_!  It’s like she never existed, like you don’t even care that she’s dead!” Sam seems shocked by the ferocity of his own words. He is trembling. His face is full of anguish and confusion.

John reels, his stomach dropping, miming that horrible moment of weightlessness before a fall. He’s man enough to admit that he’s wholly out of his depth. John’s role as a parent had never been that of a nurturer. That role had belonged to Mary. Their children’s emotional world was strictly her province. He’s ashamed to admit that consumed by his own grief and overwhelmed by the demands of running their household alone and  by caring for the twins, he’d left Sam to navigate his loss mostly on his own. He’d assured himself Sam didn’t need him the way the little ones did. He’d been so sure Sam would be okay. John clears his throat, but the ball of wire jammed there will not budge. He shoves the emotion away, knowing he can’t allow Sam to divert him from the matter at hand.

“This has nothing to do with your Mom, Sam. Or with Jody.”

Sam’s eyes go comically wide then narrow to thin slits.

“I hate you,” he hisses.

 

For a moment John can’t breathe. It’s as if someone has punched him in the chest, paralyzed his lungs. He’d known from reading Sam’s letters that things between them were worse than John imagined. Had, in fact, read that same sentiment in them, more than once. But being of aware of a thing and bearing the full weight of it are two very different things. As much as reading the words wounded him, they were still easy to dismiss as teenage melodrama. Hearing them, though. Seeing the resentment and absolute certainty in Sam’s face as he ground the words out, there was no denying it. John had failed his son.

Sam wraps his arms around his shins, pulling his legs tightly into himself. He lays his cheek on his knees, turning away from John. His shoulders shake as he cries quietly.  He looks small, wounded. John oscillates between wanting to reach out to comfort his son and wanting to give him his space.  In the end, he settles for resting his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. The moment is overwhelming, loaded with importance. John feels as if he’s standing at the precipice. He can’t turn back. Danger and uncertainty lie ahead. He has no idea which way to turn, so he turns to the only thing he has left—the truth.

“I love you, son.”

Sam’s head snaps up with such sharp surprise, John is afraid he’s hurt himself.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t let you know that enough.” John clears his throat, feeling the tell-tale prick of tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam stares at him wide-eyed, disbelieving.

“I was so worried...if I lost you, any of you kids.” He stops himself, already on the verge of losing his composure altogether.  They watch each other a long moment, both seemingly startled into silence. John watches as the anger abates from Sam’s face. He swipes Sam’s long hair away from his bewildered face.

“You get cleaned up. I’ll call Jody. See if she’ll let you talk to Dean.”

 

~~~

Dean glowers at her from where he sits impatiently at the kitchen table. He squirms uncomfortably, picking at the scratches that crisscross his arm. The cut on his forehead, just below his hairline, looks raw but not infected. He watches her attentively as she moves around the kitchen. He doesn’t touch his food.

“You okay?”

“What do you care?” he asks sarcastically.

She sets a plate in front of him then grabs her own from the counter and takes a seat. “I need to know if you’re hurt.”

He rolls his eyes and goes back to staring at his dinner.

She twirls some spaghetti onto her fork. “You don’t like spaghetti?”

He shrugs, continuing to watch her impassively.

“I’m not a very good cook,” she admits, then takes a bite. “But it’s hard to go wrong with noodles and sauce from a can.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth trembles as if he wants to smirk but is holding it back.

“Suit yourself then,” she says.

 

They sit in silence until the phone rings a few minutes later.

“You better eat,” she tells him as she stands to get the phone. “It isn’t going to get any better for being cold.”

He does smirk this time but remains silent. She counts it as a win.

“Hey, John.”

At the mention of the name, Dean’s eyes snap to her. “Is Sam okay?”

For the first time, he looks his age.  She marvels that, even now, as he faces the repercussions of his actions he’s more concerned for his friend than for himself.

“I’m sure he is,” she tells him then turns her attention back to John, who sounds exhausted and frazzled. John asks if she would give Dean permission to speak with Sam. She can tell from the phrasing of the question that Sam must be standing beside him listening.

She offers the phone to Dean. “It’s Sam.”

Dean scrambles out of his seat, nearly tipping the chair over. He takes the phone and walks as far away from her as the cord will allow. It’s not far, just to kitchen entryway. She can’t hear Sam’s end of the conversation of course, but Dean’s is still easy to catch, despite his efforts.

“You ok, Sammy? Yeah. No, I’m all right. Yeah, that’s what she said, but I don’t know.” Dean listens for a little bit then says,  “I’m sorry, Sammy. Yeah. Okay. Me too.”

Jody clears her throat. “I need to speak with his father before you hang up.”

Dean glances back at her then turns away again. “Sheriff needs to talk to your Dad.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, just hands to the phone back to her and retreats to his seat. He picks up his fork and stabs at his food.

 

She arranges a time for John and Sam to come in and give their statements then returns her focus to Dean.  They haven’t had a conversation about what happens next. She’d been too focused first, on making sure he was unhurt, second on ensuring he remained in her custody until the status of his case was settled. She knows there needs to be a conversation about expectations and what his life here will be like, but it’s been an incredibly long day. She thinks they would both be better off having that conversation after a good night’s sleep.

“You going to eat that or just play with it?”

He drops his fork, settling his hands in his lap and shakes his head.

She clears the table, empties the leftovers into the trash bin then sets the plates into the sink. She doesn’t notice when he gets up, just finds him suddenly standing beside her, a dish towel in his hand.

~~~

Adam and Josie sit in front of the stereo, cross-legged on the floor. Each holds one half of a broken set of headphones to their ear. His Dad had split the plastic headband in two, tired of listening to them argue over whose turn it was to use them.

“Is it almost over?” Sam asks from the window seat. They’re not allowed to touch the stereo. It’s Sam’s job to switch the record for them.

“Not yet, Sammy,” Adam chirps.

Dean snickers and Sam rolls his eyes.

“I hate you,” Sam tells him. He’ll never admit that he secretly loves the way everyone has adopted Dean’s nickname for him.

Dean sits at his Dad’s desk; pencils strewn all around him. He’s in his Sheriff Explorer uniform. (Sam had teased him mercilessly the first time he’d showed up at the house with it on. _Dude, what’s with you and uniforms,_ he’d asked. He’d received a smack upside the head and a _“don’t be an asshole”_ in return.) Sheriff Mills thought Dean might like the program and she’d been right.  Sam’s half convinced that Dean will end up Sheriff himself one day.

Dean looks up from his sketch pad. “Right backatcha, Sammy.”

 

Dean goes back to his drawing. Adam abandons the stereo to gather the two cushions Sam tossed on the ground earlier. He and Josie lay down to listen more comfortably. There is a clatter from the kitchen and a muffled curse from his Dad. Sam glances around the room, suddenly cognizant of the fact that for the first time in long time, he’s not agitated or anxious or fearful. The realization that he is happy, that in this moment everything feels perfect, surprises him. He’s instantly afraid it will all disappear. He taps the wood window frame twice to keep his good fortune from going bad.

 

A honking horn draws his attention outside. He glances out the window. Sheriff Mills waves to him from the front yard. Things are easier with her now that he’s gotten to know her better. He still doesn’t like that her and his Dad sometimes go out without them, but he’s learning to accept it. He thinks he’d be okay with her being his stepmom if it mean Dean would be his brother.

“Sheriff’s here.”

Dean glances at his watch. “Shit. She’s early.” He begins to hurriedly gather his pencils and the loose sheets of paper strewn across the desk.

“Just leave it.  You’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I will.”

Sam scrambles off the seat and pops the window open.

“Hey, Sheriff.” He waves then moves off the window seat. Dean clambers onto the seat then steps out the window onto the roof of front porch.

“See you tomorrow, Sam.” He looks past Sam. “Bye guys.”

Adam and Josie wave in unison but never turn away from the stereo.

 

Dean scoots carefully to the edge of the roof, sits then lowers himself down.

“Damn it, Dean. How many times? Use the damn door,” Sam hears his Dad shout, but it’s too late. Dean is already on his feet and running to the car.

“Sorry, Mr. Winchester!” he shouts, not looking very sorry at all.

Sam watches Dean and Sheriff Mills get in the patrol car then disappear down the driveway. He closes the window and walks to his Dad’s desk to collect Dean’s things. The sketch he’d been working on sits on top of his piled papers. Dean has sketched their island, lonely and forlorn, bathed in moonlight. The ocean is a haunting mix of shadow and light. There is the skeleton of tiny canoe in the distance. In the corner, Dean’s written “Moonrise Kingdom”.

Sam stacks the remaining papers and puts the pencils back in their box. His Dad calls them for dinner.

 

 

 


End file.
